That's what my daughter tells me. I went for a pedi/mani today, just because I deserved it, dammit, and I decided to go for something a bit different on my toes--black, with a darling little flower design on my big toe. My daughter took one look and said, "Oh my God...you have Goth toes, Mom." Okay. Well, why not? Sometimes, a mother has to be a bit dark, especially when the kids in question are mine.
Speaking of pedicures, I really want one of those spa pedicure chairs in my home. Dear 8 pound 8 ounce baby Jesus, the massage function on them is to die for. I wanted to stay there and take a nap for the remainder of the afternoon, but I had a feeling the ladies who worked there would find that exceedingly odd, plus my children kind of expected me to pick them up from school. That's too bad because for a few brief, blissful minutes, I felt relaxed and stress-free. Reality has a way of intruding, alas.
Reality included coming home to a house that had been Huskied. Skyy had decided to let me know of her displeasure in being left home from this particular outing by consuming a couple of books, one on heraldry and another by Jean-Paul Sartre. I am guessing that existentialism is not to her liking. Who would have guessed? After all, she's Russian.
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